Nearly With You
by aliwildgoose
Summary: Zuko's left his old life behind him. Now, as she watches him build a new one, Mai wonders if there's room for her in it. Mai/Zuko, sequel to Lights In the Distance


oOoOo

Mai had never been on a train before. They were a recent invention — she remembered when the first line had opened, and had attended the ceremony with her parents. The Fire Lord was expected to appear at such events, and Mai had smiled shyly at Zuko as he fidgeted on the podium during his father's speech. He had clung to his mother's sleeve when the train's boilers were fired up, then watched with wide eyes as the huge machine lurched forward in a cloud of oily smoke. Later, he'd been given a small, working model, and for a week he'd spent all the daylight hours in the garden, laying on his stomach in the grass as it chugged along its circular track. Inevitably, Azula had broken it over some petty grievance or another. After that, Mai had not given the matter of trains any further thought.

Now, huddled against the flimsy wall of a boxcar, she no longer had that luxury. It was impossible to forget where she was. The car shook constantly, irregularities in the track keeping the rhythm too uneven to properly ignore. Everything smelled of mildew and grease and burning coal, the smell working its way into her clothes and her hair until she despaired of ever getting it out again. A layer of black dust settled on every surface, though it was rare that she could actually see it — even at midday the car was very dark, a few rays of dusty sunlight all that could penetrate the walls. They had picked this car because it was unimportant, nothing but sacks of grain and moldy bales of hay — the guards gave it only a cursory glance when the train was stopped at checkpoints. But it was also deadly dull. Too dark to read, too shaky for practice, too loud and too hot to properly think. The only distraction from the monotony was conversation, voices raised over the roar of iron wheels and the whistle of wind through the cracks in the walls. But even that was too much to ask, most of the time. Mai had only one companion in the boxcar, and he was in too much pain to manage more than a few words at a time.

She had tried to convince Zuko not to go, to wait until he'd recovered, but he hadn't listened. Now it was too late. Mai sighed and shifted under his weight, her leg tingling as circulation returned. She stroked his hair, longer now but still so much like a peasant's. Two inches of growth, an ocean of distance and nearly a month of time had passed since their days in the Earth King's palace. It had all seemed very simple, then. Simpler than this, at least. They'd helped Iroh escape and faced no consequences at all. Emboldened, they'd planned for the future. They would return to the Fire Nation with Azula, and Zuko would face his father again. He would try to convince the Fire Lord to call off his pursuit of the Avatar, to pull back his armies and content himself with the territory he'd already won. They'd known, even then, that the Fire Lord would probably refuse them. But that bridge could be burned when they came to it. At best, he would agree. At worst? Well. Surely Zuko had faced the worst already.

He hadn't. Mai allowed herself to flinch as she gently pressed her fingertips against the bandages on his arm. They were warm and damp, the smell of pus and blood too strong. She'd have to change them soon.

She craned her neck, careful not to move him as she peered through a small knot hole in the wall. The landscape was unfamiliar to her, thatch houses black with soot from the factories that loomed between them. But Iroh's letters had been precise in their descriptions. Mai leaned down, her lips close to Zuko's ear so that she wouldn't have to shout. "We're almost there," she said. "We'll wait for the next checkpoint. Then we can backtrack-"

"Too dangerous," Zuko muttered, cutting her short. "Waste of time. We get off where Uncle told us to."

"You're in no shape to be jumping out of a moving train."

"Where Uncle told us," Zuko said again, steel in his voice. Mai sighed — she seemed to sigh a lot, these days — and patted his head absently. Always the hard way with him.

oOo

In the end, they did exactly as Iroh had instructed. His letters were written in a dense code of private jokes and obscure recollections that Mai found impenetrable, but Zuko had carefully explained them to her. Just in case. Then he had gone to speak with his father. She'd waited for him in an seldom-used guard house outside the palace walls, Zuko's swords and the rucksacks she'd insisted on packing beside her. When Zuko stumbled through the door, a mess of burnt flesh and charred clothing, she had known exactly what to do. She'd grown up in the capital, spent her childhood sneaking away from her nannies in the palace and her early teens exploring the city's dim back alleys. Even with Zuko's undamaged arm draped heavily across her shoulders, it wasn't difficult to reach the rail yards undetected.

She longed for that familiarity, now. She looked out across the overgrown fields, tall grass browning in the summer heat. Even the bark of the tree she'd climbed felt warm under her hand, its leaves too small and sparse to offer much shade. She turned her gaze downward, to where Zuko leaned against the trunk, his good arm cradling the bandaged one. He was doing much better, she thought, now that they were off the train. His face was relaxed, and he smiled more. He seemed to enjoy the quiet countryside, but she found it unnerving. It was almost like being back in the Earth Kingdom again.

She dropped gracefully out of the branches, her feet hitting the ground with a barely audible thud. "I can't see it," she said as she straightened.

"It must be past those trees." Zuko gingerly let go of his injured arm and reached into his rucksack. Mai waited patiently as he spread it out on a large, flat rock nearby, the process taking longer than it would have with two hands. She didn't offer to help — by now, she knew better.

"Do you even know where we are?" she asked, playfully irritated.

"Of course," said Zuko. He pointed to a brown squiggle that looked, to her, exactly like every other brown squiggle on the parchment. "These were rice paddies, so they're laid out on a grid. If we follow this embankment through the woods over there, it should take us right to the house."

Mai tried to see what he saw, but there was no use. She'd always hated geography. "When did you get so good at reading maps, anyway?"

"Around the same time I was banished," he said. He rolled the map up and put it away before meeting her eyes. He was smiling, and Mai felt a little of the tension leave her shoulders. "It suddenly seemed a lot more practical."

"Can't imagine why," she said drily. At first she'd been reluctant to joke about what had happened to him, but she didn't worry so much about it anymore. It had happened, and nothing could change that. There was no danger of her forgetting what lay beneath their humor — she was reminded, forcibly, every time she saw his face.

They started walking again, the sun at their backs. She let Zuko set the pace and stayed a few steps behind him, ready to dart forward if he stumbled. "I like maps," he said. The cheerfulness sounded thin to her, but she let him pretend. He had reason enough for wanting to distract himself. "They make sense of things."

"I suppose so."

"I never want to look at another sea chart again, though."

"Understandable."

Zuko grinned at her over his shoulder. "I could show you, sometime. If you wanted."

Mai shrugged. "Why bother when you're so good at it? It's not like I'm going anywhere without you."

She said it casually, but her heart fluttered a little as Zuko slowed his steps, hanging back until they walked shoulder-to-shoulder. Only he wasn't smiling anymore. "Mai," he said. He took her hand in his, squeezed her fingers. "I might not always be with you like this."

She glanced reflexively at the bandages, then shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. You'll have your uncle and me keeping you out of trouble. You're not going anywhere." Zuko didn't answer her, and Mai leaned toward him, took his chin in her hand and kissed him, softly, on the mouth. "I'm not going anywhere, either," she said, her thumb against his lower lip.

Zuko reached up to stroke her hair. "You're probably right," he admitted. "I'm just tired."

"We both are," Mai agreed. She turned and started walking again. It felt strange to be the one trying so hard to be cheerful. "Come on, we must be close."

They reached the trees, which were larger and closer together than they had looked from far away. Mai was surprised that any of this was still here, green and undisturbed. She said so, and a little of Zuko's smile returned. "This is uncle's estate," he said, which she knew. "He was going to be Fire Lord. Ever after what happened in Ba Sing Se, and my father took the throne from him, he was still royalty. Still important. When he…" Zuko paused, and Mai knew he was skirting around memories he'd rather not revisit. He could joke about his banishment, sometimes, but not that day. Not the day it happened. "He had to leave quickly. There wasn't time to find someone else to run the farm. Someone he trusted. So he let the staff go. It's just been empty since then." Zuko laughed, soft and sad. "I guess it wasn't important enough for my father to ruin."

"Yeah, we're all pretty happy about that."

A dagger was in Mai's hand even before the voice had stopped speaking, her eyes flickering between tree trunks and underbrush. Zuko's hand was on the hilt of his swords, and she had time to be grateful that his left arm was the one that had been burned.

"Show yourself," Zuko growled, one sword half-drawn.

Footsteps crackled on dry leaves, and a boy dressed in blue and white appeared from behind a tree, hands above his head. He grinned at them, and even through the haze of adrenaline his brown skin and blue eyes looked familiar.

"Hey, Zuko," he said, and Mai finally placed him: the Water Tribe boy that traveled with the Avatar. He nodded at her, too, and waved one raised hand. "Mai, right?"

She had no idea what his name was, and felt suddenly foolish. She didn't like it when other people knew more about her than she did about them. She turned to Zuko, meaning to whisper some question, but he had already stepped forward toward the other boy.

"You're…Sokka?" he said. His tone was gruff, but Mai could tell he was just nervous. "I'm glad we found you. It's been a long trip."

Sokka lowered his hands, then, and the two of them clasped forearms in the Water Tribe style. "Yeah, I can see that!" He pointed over his shoulder, toward the far side of the woods. "The house is just over the next hill," he said. "Iroh's making dinner."

Zuko's face lit up at his uncle's name, and it was clear to Mai that only a vague sense of propriety and the pain of his injury kept him from running the rest of the way. As it was, his strides were fast and long as he followed Sokka through the trees. Mai lingered behind them, watching silently as they made awkward conversation. Zuko looked back over his shoulder, and she curved her lips into what she hoped was an encouraging smile. He smiled back, a little nervously, then returned his attention to whatever Sokka was saying. He didn't look back at her again after that, and Mai told herself she didn't mind. None of this was about her, after all.

oOo

Mai wasn't sure what she had expected, precisely. She had visited many country estates in her life — her own family kept a small villa in the Long Ji mountains — and so had a general idea of what they involved. But Zuko's uncle was an odd sort of nobleman. She knew his tastes were far more modest than his means, a fact that had caused no small amount of gossip at court when she was a child. And so she thought that his home would perhaps have only one pavilion for watching the sun rise and set, a small courtyard garden, a handful of bedrooms, and a stable that held only a half-dozen or so komodo rhinos.

"I don't remember it very well," Zuko had told her, during one of his more salient afternoons on the train. "I only visited it once, when I was four. There were ostrich horses that Uncle brought back from the Earth Kingdom. And the roof was thatch instead of tile." She'd felt him shrug in the dark. "He was a general. He didn't spend much time at home. And after he came back from Ba Sing Se, my father made him stay in the capital."

Mai remembered Iroh's quiet wing of the palace. She had gone there with Zuko sometimes, once she'd returned from the academy. It had smelled of jasmine and ginseng, and he had served them tea in jade cups as he taught them the art of Pai Sho. She hoped this house would be something like that, if larger, and comfortably outside the influence of his niece.

Mai had seen thatched roofs in the Earth Kingdom, so she recognized the tidy rows of bundled straw for what they were as they neared the crest of the hill. A few steps farther, and the rest of the house came into view. She had thought, perhaps, that it would be a more rustic version of the other villas she'd seen. In truth, it seemed to her to be more of a large, square barn. It was tall, two stories at least, with a peaked roof and several small outbuildings clustered around it. Smoke curled from a hole in the roof, and she could smell cooking meat.

The three of them half-jogged down the steep incline. Mai supposed that she should be nervous just then, about to sit and eat dinner with old enemies, but she was too exhausted to feel anything but hungry. And relieved, knowing Zuko would soon have his arm tended to by someone who knew what they were doing.

A dirt track wound along the base of the hill and continued out of sight in either direction. Beyond that, pale stones marked the borders of a narrow path that led from the road to the house itself. As they passed single-file through the vegetable garden, Sokka in front and Mai at the rear, Zuko's footsteps began to slow. A few yards short of the door he stopped entirely, and as Mai came up behind him she rested her hand on his back. She didn't ask what was wrong. She knew he would tell her if he wanted to.

Sokka noticed that they'd stopped and turned back toward them. "Everything okay?" he asked with a small frown.

"Um…go on ahead," said Zuko, still awkward. "I just…I need a minute."

The other boy shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, then ducked inside.

Zuko stared at the doorway for several minutes. Curtains had been drawn across the windows, but Mai could hear the soft sounds of laughter and conversation. When Zuko spoke again, his voice was almost as soft.

"I can't go in there," he said.

Mai squeezed his shoulder. "Of course you can."

"I helped Azula," he said, and she could hear the panic rising underneath his words. "She almost killed him."

"You saved your uncle," said Mai. She moved forward, carefully slid her arms around his chest. "He explained everything. Remember the letter? He told you they understood."

She felt Zuko's hand cover hers. "I can't."

"You can," she said. Then, feeling foolish, "I'll be right here. Next to you. You can just hold my hand if you need to, all right?" The words sounded ridiculous to her, but it seemed to have been the right thing to say.

Zuko exhaled a long, slow breath. "All right."

Even though they had just watched Sokka go in without preamble, Zuko paused to knock on the weathered, wooden door. It opened a moment later, and Zuko took an involuntary step back. Suddenly, incredibly, the Avatar was standing directly in front of them, chest-high and grinning.

Zuko clutched Mai's hand with an iron grip. "Hello," he managed.

"Hey!" said the Avatar brightly, as if they were old friends.

Mai remained silent, unsure what was expected of her. The Avatar smiled at her a little shyly. "I guess we haven't really met," he said. "I'm Aang."

"Mai," she said.

Introductions out of the way, the Avatar peered at Zuko's arm. "We should have Katara look at that."

A girl's voice cut across the room, young but forceful. "Talk at the table, I'm starving!"

"Oh, yeah!" The Avatar — Aang? It seemed too strange to call him something so mundane — closed the door again and pointed to the long, wooden table behind him. Most of the faces around it were like Sokka's, familiar but still strangers to her. One, however, shone like a beacon from beside the fireplace.

"My nephew," Iroh rumbled, his voice thick with emotion. With surprising swiftness he circled the table and crushed Zuko into a hug. "I was so worried," he said, muffled by Zuko's shirt.

Zuko patted him awkwardly on the back, but was clearly pleased. "I missed you, too, Uncle," he said.

"And Mai," said Iroh, rounding on her. She held up her hands but he batted them aside and hugged her almost as hard as Zuko. "Thank you for taking care of him, my dear," he murmured, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

"All right, then," he said as he pulled away, his eyes a little misty. "Now that we are all here together-"

"Dinner?" the girl asked loudly. Mai saw, now, that it was the blind Earthbender.

"Yes," said Iroh, chuckling a little. "Dinner."

Iroh and the Avatar returned to their places on the long bench, leaving just enough room for Mai and Zuko to squeeze between them. The Avatar seemed intent on having Zuko sit next to him, and Mai gave silent thanks that the only two people she knew would be on either side of her, sparing her from uncomfortable small talk with the Avatar's friends.

She shouldn't have worried. It seemed Iroh had spent must of the last few weeks telling them about what Zuko had done in Ba Sing Se, and what he had planned to do once he was home in the capital. Now that he was finally in their midst, they had an endless string of questions they wanted answered.

"What was the train like?" Sokka asked through a mouthful of stew.

"Loud," said Zuko. "And hot."

Then, from the Avatar, "Did you really try to talk the Fire Lord into ending the war?"

Zuko found Mai's hand under the table. "Yes."

"What did he say?"

"No."

Sokka gestured toward the bandages with his spoon. "What happened to your arm?"

Zuko's grip tightened, almost hard enough to hurt. "He said a little more than no."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table as everyone's eyes shifted to their bowls. Except for the blind girl, who continued to stare into space, chewing thoughtfully. She swallowed and said, "At least he didn't get you in the face this time."

Several horrified voices shouted "TOPH!" at once, and Mai quickly turned to Zuko, ready to drag him out of there if she had to. His expression, for those first few seconds, was one of shock. Then, absurdly, he shook his head and laughed.

"Yeah, good thing," he said, quiet but smiling. "I'd have looked pretty ridiculous."

"Zuko, prince of the raccoon foxes," Toph agreed.

Everyone laughed, then, the tension broken. Zuko caught Mai's gaze, and his hopeful little smile made her chest ache. He'd wanted this so badly, more than she had properly realized until now. He deserved to get what he wanted, after all he'd been through. All they'd been through together, she thought, as she gave his hand another squeeze.

After they'd finished eating, Toph burped loudly and got up from her seat. "I'll take first watch," she said. As she ambled across the kitchen and out the door, Sokka and the the Avatar stood up and started to stack the dirty bowls.

"I'll help," said Zuko, already on his feet, but Iroh pushed him back down again with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"First, we tend to your wound," he said. He looked up and past Mai and Zuko, to the girl who had been sitting on the other side of the Avatar. "Katara?"

Mai recalled that the girl was a Waterbender — they'd fought several times, and she had been proficient enough. But unlike her friends, who seemed content to wave aside the ugly details of their shared history, this girl was clearly intent on holding a grudge.

She gave Zuko a narrow look, then sighed heavily. "Hold out your arm."

Zuko did so, wincing a little in anticipation. But whatever her feelings on the matter, Katara was gentle as she undid the fastenings that held the bandage in place and slowly, carefully, unwound it from his arm. Mai had changed them the night before, but after a day of hard travel even the outer layers were tinged yellow with pus. Further along, the fabric had stuck to the wound.

Katara frowned, then looked directly at Mai for the first time. "Can you cut this off?" she asked, indicating the roll of used bandage that she'd removed so far. Mai wordlessly slid a dagger from her belt. Its edge was razor sharp, as they all were, but Mai still held the bandage steady between thumb and forefinger, so that it wouldn't pull as she cut it.

That done, Katara bent a stream of water from the flask at her hip. In a moment Zuko's arm was enveloped by a thin cocoon that shone blue-white. She maintained it with one hand as the other carefully removed the last layer of bandage. Mai had not seen Zuko's injury properly since they'd left the capital — after that, she'd changed the bandages in the dim light of the boxcar, relying on touch as much as sight. Now, even through the glow of the water, Mai could see how little his burns had healed. They were extensive, a swirl of red that wound around his arm from the back of his hand to just past his elbow.

"It's doesn't seem to be infected. Good." Katara closed her eyes, her brow knit with concentration. "It'll scar."

"That's fine." said Zuko quietly. Behind him, Mai bit her lip, and kept biting until the wave of fury had crested and ebbed. At the Fire Lord, for having done this to him a second time, and at herself for letting it happen. Zuko was done being angry, but she wasn't sure she would ever be.

"There," said Katara, drawing Mai back out of her thoughts. The water retreated smoothly into her flask, her wariness forgotten for the moment as she regarded her handiwork. "How does it feel?"

Zuko flexed his arm gingerly, opened and closed his fist and rotated his wrist. "Better," he said. "A lot better. Thank you."

"Good," said Katara. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll have to work on it again tomorrow."

"All right."

"All right." Katara glowered at the table for a moment, then pushed herself to her feet and stalked over to where the boys were doing dishes.

"What's her problem?" Mai wondered, her voice low.

Zuko sighed. "It's complicated."

Mai kissed his cheek. Recently, everything was complicated, but that was fine. They were together, and alive, and where they needed to be. That was what mattered.

oOo

The house was large, but had few actual rooms. Most of the first floor was taken up by the kitchen, where the Avatar and his friends all slept in a circle of bedrolls on the rough wooden floor. Iroh slept in the room he had once shared with his family, separated from the kitchen by sliding partitions. A steep stairway led up into the rafters. Iroh explained that during planting and harvest, the extra help had slept up there together. Now, Mai and Zuko would have it to themselves.

Mai had not given much thought to what the sleeping arrangements would be, largely because she suspected she wouldn't have any say in them. But as Iroh disappeared from sight, and Zuko dimmed the lamp with a small wave of his hand, she was overcome with relief. Whatever happened downstairs, this space was theirs alone.

Zuko shrugged out of his shirt, less awkward now that he could move both arms, then collapsed onto the futon. "I'm never getting up again," he mumbled.

Mai chuckled as she reached up to undo her hair. "Never?"

"Never."

Mindful of the heat and the rigors of travel, Mai had discarded her usual clothes for something simpler — a light silk tunic held in place by a narrow belt, with loose pants underneath. She untied the belt, and it all fell into a dark, soft pool on the floor. She stepped gracefully out of it, watching Zuko watch her. Even this exhausted, his interest in her body was hard to miss, and she saw no reason not to enjoy it.

"That'll get pretty boring," she said as she curled up next to him, her hand on his chest.

He laughed and covered her hand with his. "Boring would be nice."

"I think you'd hate it."

"Maybe." He turned his head to kiss her, softly, on the mouth. "I'll probably never know."

"Probably," she agreed.

The air was cooler, now, and after Zuko put out the lamp they crawled under their worn, cotton quilt. It had been weeks since they'd slept together like this, in a real bed, with no servants there to cough politely until they returned to their own rooms. Mai closed her eyes and tucked her face against Zuko's neck, his pulse strong and steady beneath her lips.

She felt him stroke her hair. "Mai," he said softly.

"Hmm?"

"I'm really glad you're here. I don't think I…" He paused, and she felt him swallow. "I couldn't do this without you."

She curled her arm around his chest, pulling him close. "You could," she said. "But you won't have to."

oOoOo


End file.
